


i dont have a favorite color theyre all ugly

by nyawful (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, listen just dont listen to anything i have to say ever, tmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nyawful
Summary: idk what this is but i couldnt decide on a tone. i literally just wanted to talk about a planetthis was too convoluted 2 put on tumblr basically DONT read th





	

 

 

i love pluto. she really screws up my chart with the whole saturn opposition & venus square & mars trine but i love her so much 

the whole performance of death and rebirth through having things u love being ripped away so u can learn u dont need them is so... is fun the word? ive always been uneasy at the feeling of safety and comfort. anxiously waiting for whatever ive gotten attached to t be taken away. for a really long time ive had this preoccupation with exposing myself to awful things until im emotionally numb and detached.

i love it, i love control and having control over my emotions is the single thing i have left given my nightmarish living arrangements.

 

 

[i've been violent and selfish and everything i do is for cheap meaningless thrills and, of course, attention. passing infatuation is nothing but a means to satiate my boredom and thankfully im not deluded enough to call that love. i cry fake, loud and hard, spilling my nonexistant substance for everyone to see. wracked with shame in the morning before the hours pass and i relapse again this afternoon. i get close to others just so i can eventually decide to leave them without a word. i feed off concerned calls left to voicemail and the new feeling of guilt they carry alongside their languid printed obituary.

 

pluto snaps the wooden bones of my bridges, taunting my devastation.

_(my?)_

im never satisfied, whilst i unkindly push and pull at the seams, not allowing a moment for you to recollect yourself. heartless denunciation, only departing at the pitted chest your left with and the rotten taste of tissue against my mouth.

clock wings first lifted on the harrow of how happiness is a power play; crooning when resistance loosens, while tightening around the neck of adorned company. alas, comfort never lasts, and humans do as they've always.

want more. 

 

 _what happens when you run out of resistance?_  

i chimed. always so naive. _well,_   _what happens when you run out of knots to untie?_ ]

 

 

 

 

ive got a big ego and i snap at being treated like anything less than aristocracy, which usually results in me getting my ass beat. so i kind of feed my ego through my detachment?

 

[evident in the drowning words i've raked into my head lamenting about how hopeless and pointless and empty every breathe of smog amounts to. as genuine a religious horror as any. i repent at the unlikely occasion my chest flutters and scold when i refrain from join'ment in falling from the bridge. stitching my lips together at kind offers, nose turned at the pleading exit door.

_(deserving)_

and i feel special and superior because im not the primitive, simpleminded creature that he is. reasoning that im not a slave to my desire like him, im abusing the highroad. and ill never be satisfied with my selfless sabotage because it makes me better than you. i scrape my insides clean so you won't have anything left to mangle. im my own hollow untouchable shell, not yours.

 

i've twisted myself up to the point that (all i really am, all that's really left of me,) my animalistic will for air and power, is endorsing my own death.

 

 

 

my inhibitions smile when pluto touches its luminaries, and i'll be at the edge of my seat as the world ends with her unforgiving grace upon my drug induced coma.]

 

 

 

_Disinhibition is the very root of power. For most people, what we think of as 'power plays' aren't calculated and Machiavellian - they happen at the subconscious level. Many of those internal regulators that hold most of us back from bold or bad behaviour diminish or disappear. When people feel powerful, they stop trying to ‘control themselves’!_

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is exTREMely personal. also, as you can see i project my thoughts onto characters. it happens subconsciously, and i really dont like when i do it. i hate myself and i want shinya to be as different from me as possible


End file.
